2024-01-02 A Meditation on Subtly All-Things
“9 There he came to a cave and lodged in it. And behold, the word of the Lord came to him, and he said to him, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” 10 He said, “I have been very jealous for the Lord, the God of hosts. For the people of Israel have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword, and I, even I only, am left, and they seek my life, to take it away.” 11 And he said, “Go out and stand on the mount before the Lord.” And behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind tore the mountains and broke in pieces the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. And after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. 12 And after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire the sound of a low whisper. 13 And when Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his cloak and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. And behold, there came a voice to him and said, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” 14 He said, “I have been very jealous for the Lord, the God of hosts. For the people of Israel have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword, and I, even I only, am left, and they seek my life, to take it away.”” (1 Kings 9-14 ESV)
High above the battle, subtlety reins supreme. A Man, forlorn and servant-minded, went to His death by way of making hidden and subtle offerings unto His people. Somehow one life was paramount to a battle field claiming untold life. Somehow the soldier wears his or her heart on the sleeve, because of a strange kind of personal War that Christ was fighting.
As He went to the Cross, fighting. As He savored strange calm and fruitful discourse with same said disciples. They were strangely comforted around the campfire gathered. They were reclining and peace in partaking in a Supper together, a Last Supper, a valuation of His life somehow elusive and subtle, worth their sad panicked dispersion upon the arrest, and worth their occluded or denied Coping, returning to the fishing trawler, not quite sure what it all was about, in any case.
Therefore the soldier in battle garb does not panic around lives put down on the front line of war. The soldier sees the pomp and magnificent shows of power, yet recalls This Power somehow to be of a stronger stripe. This Power, somehow to be more encompassing and more relevant. This Power, somehow to coach and hold fast, to caress and to murmur, that God is for us; that God is Divine in His purposes and His outlay. God is Master Supreme of the strange reassurances and strange investment in this our Conscientiousness, our Gentility, our refusal to be battle-hardened beyond reason: our hardness is our reluctance to go stone, reluctance to go incommunicado, reluctance to forget sane appreciation of life on all sides.
Yet too the reality of war, and the pattern repeated umpteen times, of the soldier laid down for others, of the strange manic Decisiveness, of the heroic Foray, Parlay, launch battle-mode into the fray. Because of a subtle Claim. Because of a strange Peace and Pride of Circumstance. Because God offloaded our anxious concerns onto a Sin-Bearer. God showed us Grace by punching the wall rather than punching us, in hope opposite to Machiavellian fear-mongering, that a Peace-mongering would illuminate, would highlight and coach us to arise on the other side of things, strangely warmed because strangely shown Mercy.
His Mercy is deep, and reflective of all our paranoia and sins and depression and structural infirmities. We have frightened thought-spheres that today are held and are nurtured. We have “sin” apart from the pastor’s usual eulogy, sins of failing to be the good son or good daughter; sins as to failing to honor a friendship past sufficiently, gift-giving flaws or spiritual presence lacking, or anything we harp on or allow to dispel good cheer.
Good Cheer is found on the flipside, when we literally can do no accusatory harm to a peer and friend in the Gospel. When the affectionate laughter and approval, the joking and the passionate love affair of the duo, the trio, the untold gatherings of Friends and of those Absolved, is our resting place come evening. When Something preaches of an “Oh, yeah!” moment of Recognition, of Home, of Patience Afforded unto us, of basic hearthplace needs or Peace or Prosperous Hopes, Dialogs, assurance as unto untold allowance for repose and for rest.
We are restful, because we are existential about tomorrow’s battle. We go in, because death is not the final arbiter: death has no power, nothing greater than the self-same Peace of time and circumstance. In time, in circumstance, we are Assured, that tomorrow’s parties and banquets, tomorrow’s accolades and ceremonies, are ours to claim this day. For we have earned the moral stamp of approval, the courage morally to enter into battle, the sense that by only dreaming of a better estate of the soul, we somehow are credited as such: Jesus gives us His moral pluck and belonging; we are in fact, after all is said and done, Good Folk. Because of the arm around our shoulder coaching us, holding us step after step, leading us, forgiving us for our weakened state of injury and of impossible binds called Sin. In these binds, these bondages, there is an Appreciator of Life, who wishes that none shall perish, but that all shall reach a Heaven Now, rather than tomorrow’s corrections of today’s errors. No, we are not corrected unto Heaven, but attain Heaven Today. In delight of sins forgiven. In peace of parents pleased and teachers and drill sergeants obeyed. In duty unto siblings and neighbors. In all things honorific of something subtle, a personal appeal made on that Cross, to Rise, to Fight, to go forth Boldly.
Yes, we are Victors in Him. We are placated, carried along, urged forward, and peacefully Held, this hour and this day, because He needed us as much as we needed Him: to give His ministry potential and legs; to give His ministry some recipient of the courageous plain-speech and quieter words coming from a Person consigned to Die. To Die, yet to Rise. To Rise, yet to Witness. To Witness, yet to Rest. Eating and fellowshipping as though that subtle enemy called Death had received bountifully from the good cheer and the patience of the would-be marks of him the grim reaper.